


Andre

by AvidPoetJaz (rath2210)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexuality, Coming Out, Male Homosexuality, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rath2210/pseuds/AvidPoetJaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Girls. You said girls or boys."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Andre

 “Girls. You said boys or girls.”

It takes a moment for my brain to catch up, to rewire itself and get on with the program. I shut my eyes once I realize what he is talking about.

_“I don’t even know honestly. Like have you ever been not attracted to someone when all signs and shit say that you should? Like this is the type of guy you’ve always wanted and got picky about; nice body, nice personality, has his own thing going on, gives you space. Yet, when you do get this guy, nothing. No attraction. Should you like wait? Maybe it takes time with guys like these? Or maybe something wrong with you? Cuz like you’re attracted to other people you see around, boys or girls, yet the one person you should feel attracted to, aren’t? Like, am I vain for that? Is that it?”_

My own words resonate through my mind. I open my eyes and look at him.

Andre has no makeup on, removed everything with one of those wipes he has stored throughout the place.

He is bareless now; vulnerable as he likes to call it.

He looks younger and more _him_. Like he used to when we first met.

Pale, freckles on his cheeks and nose, full lips and thinned brows. The defectiveness of life around his eyes, dark circles that no matter how much sleep he gets, just don’t go away. A few acne scars from a bad breakout few months ago. And redness, lots and lots of redness.

Yet, he still looks _young_ and sad.

Memories of him telling me his come-out story flash in my mind; bright and strong, reminding me of the difficulties life threw at him. That a few years ago, things were still harsh and not as accepting. That society is still bad, I see it every day with him. How people look at him, judge him, and stereotype him.

_“She was a good mother. A good Christian mother. I stills hold some bitterness about her throwing me out, but she’s my mom. Can’t judge her the sames way I judge the people that look down on me.”_

His face portrayed the same emotion then, when he had uttered those words to me, as it does now: unfiltered sadness.

I move around the floor of his one bedroom apartment, dragging one of the many pillows he has stock around on his living room, and I get my head on his stretched out legs. His dainty fingers automatically go to my hair, taking it out of the usual ponytail.

He hates that I hardly let my hair down.

_“You have such beautiful hair. Let it down more often.”_ Are the words he sighs every time he sees me.

 “I forget how puppy-sad you look without makeup. You suck.”

He hums, one hand playing with my hair, while he holds the half empty vodka bottle in the other. He looks at me, moving his head in a disapproving shake.

“Dodging. And you know makeup does more than hide dark circles sweetie. I taught you that ages ago.” He tells me with a roll of his eyes

“So much dodging.”

Everything quiets down for a bit, my eyes are close again and I know he is waiting for me to start talking. He has always been the only person I know willing to wait for me to get my thoughts in order and to talk them out.

I am thinking he will always be the only person to wait for me. Even when we first met, he calmly waited for me to give him a reply after he gently _coerced_ me into a quick makeover.

Not even previous friendships had been as patient as Andre. Something one would not expect of his five-foot-one, over the top flamboyant personality that gets him more annoyed looks than praises when working at the little MAC store located inside Macy’s.

Actually, he gets those looks no matter where he is.

Snaps force my eyes open and I stare into the amuse eyes above me.

“Backs to Earth sweetling.”

I take a deep breath, don’t want to give anything much thought honestly. Especially the maybe of me being attracted to both girls and guys. I don’t have anything against it, I just don’t want to think about it as a possibility for me but,

“Yeah. Girls are pretty too.”

He hums again and is quiet. He is looking at the wall and as I stare at his face, I see the moment things start clicking in his head. He furrows his brows and his lips thin, his whole face going into a deep frown. It is a look that he rarely gets, a look of thinking and pondering of words he has to get right because

_“At times, one misplaced word can hunt someone for the rest of their lives_.”

He takes a deep breath and his eyes are back to mine, his soft fingers still massaging my head gently.

“There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not vain or anythings like that. You can be as attracted to anyone mentally, and that’s a beautiful friendship. But I like to think that a person also has to be attracted, at some level, physically to a person too. If you’re not attracted physically to someone, don’t ever forced yourself into a physical relationship just cuz, that’s a lie and you hurts more than just yourself. If it is nots there now, it won’t be months or years from now. That’s not something you force. It’s something that comes naturally. Should come naturally.”

He takes a deep breath, leans back on the one couch he has in his tiny place and takes a long swig of the vodka bottle.

“Ifs you aint attracted to your bf now and you _do_ find yourself being attracted to other _people,_ then huns, end it.”

Everything is silent for the rest of the night. His tiny Brooksville apartment offering the solitude I need to think on this, something I would not be able to get anywhere else. I hear the clank of the bottle being thrown somewhere and both of Andre’s hand on my head.

He did not have someone to gently tell him it was okay to be different. He dealt with the bullying, living in homeless shelters, with fear that someone would hurt him just because of _who_ he was.

I have him at the stage where it matters most: doubt.

I am lulled to sleep with his fingers moving about a familiar braiding pattern and his voice in my head telling me that there is nothing wrong with me.

I am glad for that.

I appreciate quiet nights and Andre.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece I wrote in hopes I'll be able to get out of whatever funk I've fallen into. Nothing ground-breaking but still something. Let me know if you guys have any ideas. I'll be writing short pieces here and there until I can once again focus on the longer ones. Thank you!!!


End file.
